


(tonight) we burn like stars that never die

by LyraLV



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamtale (Undertale), Angst, DreamMare - Freeform, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 13:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20471960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraLV/pseuds/LyraLV
Summary: Under Nightmare's touch, Dream has never felt more alive.





	(tonight) we burn like stars that never die

**Author's Note:**

  * For [0neType](https://archiveofourown.org/users/0neType/gifts).

> *jazz hands* I know nothing about this ship, so sorry for any inconsistencies in the characters. They piloted this fic themselves.

The throne room of Nightmare’s castle displays the evidence of their battle in an array of dripping black magic and crackling arrows. They stand aloft as they breathe aloud in a momentary break from their pointless fighting.

Of course, Nightmare is the first to break the silence. His grin is cocky and proud. 

“So, why return, brother? Is it because my words were true?”

Dream feels something boil within his chest at the mockery. He wonders if this hate is a result of stepping into Nightmare’s infested kingdom. Choosing to follow Nightmare down a path of arguing and assigning blame is a fool’s errand, but the sweep of his brother’s grin tugs at something within him. He wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth and hardens his glare, readying another arrow in his bow. 

“You put me here.  _ You  _ forced my hand. I wouldn’t—”

“Choose to come here of your own volition?” Nightmare smiles ruefully. “Really.”

The outlandish accusation spikes Dream’s adrenaline. How dare his brother suggest something so callous. How dare he feign innocence of his ceaseless tyranny against the other timelines, other worlds so undeserving of such severe destruction and suffering—

Dream bristles, and for a moment as he and Nightmare stare each other down, it feels as if their personalities have swapped. The negativity curls like a yellow fog around Dream’s positive center. His brother measures him with an expression that is equal parts amused and satisfied. He almost looks pleased.

The tentacles Nightmare had formed are summoned away with a careless wave of his dripping hand. Clearly, his brother doesn’t think him a threat anymore. Whatever did Dream do to appear so helpless before his enemy?

(He knows. The phantom trace of Nightmare’s tongue entwined with his own does not enable him to forget his guilt.)

The arrow lodged in his bow burns bright with justice. Dream could finish this fight. His brother is disarmed. He could take him down.

Nightmare takes calm, measured steps forward, and Dream doesn’t move. 

“Always you have been so antagonistic, brother.” The sarcasm drips as steadily as his corrupted form as he closes the distance separating them. “But here you stand in my kingdom, and not once have I initiated an offense. Here in my world, you are more than welcome. You are drawn to me, Dream, like a moth to a flame, and what you crave cannot be found elsewhere. You need me. You always have. Do you want to know something else?”

His brother stops right in front of him. He leans close, breath skimming along the unprotected length of Dream’s neck, so very frighteningly cold and demanding. Dream loses his breath at the same moment as Nightmare gently breathes out his. Even in the frozen arc of time that has captured them here together with nothing but anticipation separating them, they remain in sync, following and mimicking each other like a dance. Dream is helpless to pull away despite remaining utterly untouched by Nightmare. His body thrums with nervous excitement.

There. It’s the lightest touch. The kiss pressed against his spine feels whisper-soft, more gentle than air. Dream shudders under the aching sweetness of Nightmare’s kiss, and he feels the hunger in the grin pressed against heated bone.

“My dear brother,” Nightmare sighs at his neck. His words drip with the sweetest poison. “I need you just as much as you need me.”

The darkness of the room is shut from sight as Dream closes his eyes and revels in the absence of light. It comes as no ironic surprise that he finds comfort in this canvas of nothing. He doesn’t have to search for stability. Everything he needs is right before him, suggestively pressed against the needy curve of his body, heedless of the weapon between them. Dream feels the rush of magic responding to Nightmare’s touch like a longtime lover. His body knows the familiarity of his brother’s more than any other, and he yearns towards it with unconscious desperation.

His gloves crease even tighter around his bow and arrow, but he does not move it. This remains his final protection, and he knows that it too will soon fade away when he gives into his brother. Nightmare is patient and unyielding. He knows how to puppet every one of Dream’s strings. It only takes time.

Nightmare shifts and presses a kiss further down Dream’s neck, nudging aside the cloak covering his collarbone. Still, his hands do not touch Dream, waiting for the full submission and acceptance of his brother. He is waiting for him to beg. 

If only Dream’s friends knew how depraved he had become. Of how...impure he had turned. His positivity is tainted, and as horrifying as the thought should be, Dream feels his soul stir with hope and want at the possibility of filling it with the essence of Nightmare’s own center. To be tainted just a little and not have to always focus on the  _ good  _ of everything--would that be so horrible to wish for? 

But who would even know? There’s no one to suspect a thing. No one who really concerns themselves with Dream. He’s been lonely for a long, long while. Perhaps that is why he keeps returning. No one else understands him better than Nightmare. No one else takes the time to pull him apart so agonizingly sweet and expose the mettle of his being to something new. Dream comes to Nightmare with desire in his soul, and he is renewed upon every meeting. Who should dare challenge his needs? They fall short in the shadow of Nightmare’s empowering majesty. It is equally revitalizing to know that his brother needs him just as so. They are part of the same coin.

Dream opens his eyes and dismisses his weapon. He doesn’t need to pretend. Nightmare will construct him anew, and together they will burn brighter than everyone else. They will shape this world to their liking. It will be brutal and deadly, and it will be gorgeous.

He tilts his head to the side to expose his neck even more to the tender grace of his brother’s affections. Nightmare hums against his neck and waits.

Dream swallows around the stiffness of his throat. He says, voice laborious with longing, “Night…”

The need remains locked behind his teeth. Painfully, he tries again, but the words do not come. The embarrassing goodness of his soul refuses to loosen his tongue. Dream is not concerned about the desire that is verbally sealed away because he knows Nightmare will later draw it out of him when they are tangled in the sheets, his brother buried so deeply within his magic, hands wrapped possessively around his thighs, his hips, demanding praise as his due. Dream knows by experience that he will sweetly sing his need and want with every thrust of his brother’s hips, and he will do so with open adoration as his fists tighten around the nearest purchase. 

Nightmare must feel the throbbing ache in Dream’s soul and between his legs because his grin stretches even wider even as he croons in mocking reassurance.

“Shh. I’m here, brother. I have always been here. And now, you shall stand alongside me in unadulterated beauty. Come, let us consummate our union in celebration.”

Dream breathes heavily as he turns his head and accepts the hungry kiss Nightmare presses against his teeth, oily tongue slipping into his parched mouth with a groan of delight. They step through the spaces of the void and into bed without breaking the kiss. While Dream helps Nightmare shed his clothes, he cannot help the giddiness of his soul that he has never felt before, even in moments of great happiness.

This is triumph. This is liberation. And as Nightmare’s hands cradle his skull and slide up, gently removing the crown from his head, Dream relaxes in the hold of his brother’s grip, unrelenting as tentacles tighten around the willingness of his malleable body. Trapped like this, he has never felt more free. 


End file.
